He leaned down and kissed her, slow and deep, and the bond between them lit up like a circuit completing. It wasn’t just his desire she felt, but a ferocious, tender love.
Mine. My mate. My future.
When he pulled back, his expression had shifted to that of a CEO reviewing a critical plan. “The party’s at noon. We still have hours. Your first priority is enjoying the rest of your tea. Your second is deciding if you want to wear the emerald dress or the silver one. Your third…” He traced her lower lip with his thumb, his gaze turning molten. “Well, let’s wait until after breakfast for the third priority.”
“Is that an order, Alpha?” she teased.
A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. “It’s a strong suggestion. You might need some energy for the third priority.” He straightened, his hands leaving her shoulders. “I’m going to make breakfast now.”
He disappeared into the house, and Camille let out a contented sigh. The warmth he left behind lingered, both on her skin and in her soul. She looked out at the bay, the water sparkling under the sun, and let the truth settle into her bones.
This was her life now. Not a performance. Not a transaction. A connection so deep it rewired her very understanding of intimacy and belonging. She took another sip of tea, the warmth spreading through her, inside and out.
Breakfast on the sun-drenched veranda was a study in easy contentment. Helena passed a bowl of fresh berries across the linen-clad table, her green eyes alight with maternal anticipation.
“Everything’s prepared. The caterers will be here soon, and the garden looks magnificent. Are you feeling excited for today, Camille? Noon can’t come soon enough for me.”
Camille swallowed a bite of perfectly ripe strawberry, the sweetness a contrast to the faint flutter in her stomach. “It’s… a lot. In a wonderful way. A party just for… this.” She gestured vaguely between herself and Leander, who sat at the head of the table.
Leander’s hand found her knee beneath the table, a warm, grounding weight. “There is nothing to be nervous about.” His tone brooked no argument, a soft alpha command. “Everyone will love you. They’ve waited a long time to see their Alpha claim his mate. Today isn’t about scrutiny. It’s a celebration about family.”
The wordfamilyresonated differently here. It didn’t feel like obligation or strategy. Through the bond, she felt the truth of his words—a steady, confident warmth that had no room for doubt. This wouldn’t be a gala of polished masks and whispered calculations. This would be authentic.
The realization was a liberation.
Hours later, after a breakfast that stretched into languid conversation and a shower that had been anything but languid—steam, slick skin, and Leander pinning her against cool tile with a growl that vibrated through the bond—Camille descended the grand staircase.
The emerald silk of her gown whispered around her legs, a column of liquid jade that made her eyes shine like deep water. Beside her, Leander was a study in controlled power in a crisp white shirt, the top buttons undone to reveal a glimpse of his tanned throat and the stark line of his scar. His black slacks were tailored to perfection, and his gaze as it swept over her was pure, unadulterated heat.
Helena waited at the bottom, a serene smile on her face. “The party is already lively outside. They’re very eager.”
Leander offered his arm, and Camille took it, her fingers curling into the solid muscle beneath his sleeve. He led her through the sprawling estate, the sound of laughter and music growing louder until they stepped through the French doors into the back gardens.
The scene stole her breath. A hundred people or more mingled under strings of lanterns that would glow at dusk. Long tables groaned with food that smelled of herbs and smoke from a roasting pit. Children darted between legs, and the laughter was full-throated, genuine. It was chaos, but it was a warm, welcoming chaos.
As they entered, the crowd’s attention shifted as one. Camille instinctively braced for the assessing stares of her old life, the cold calculus of social valuation.
It never came.
Instead, faces broke into wide, unreserved smiles. Then the applause started—not polite, but robust and joyful, accompanied by whistles and cheers. The wave of acceptance was so tangible and so warm, it felt like stepping into sunlight after a lifetime in a cold and dark place.
This is what belonging feels like,she thought, a lump forming in her throat.
The next few hours were a blur of handshakes, hugs from formidable lionesses who squeezed her with surprising gentleness, and conversations that ranged from architecture to the best fishing spots on the bay. No one asked about her family’s portfolio. No one mentioned Damian Cross. They asked abouther. Her opinions, her experiences, and how she liked the Hamptons. She never once reached for the polished, placating persona of Camille St. James. She was simply Camille, Leander’s mate, and it was more than enough.
She was deep in conversation with Helena about restoring a vintage pergola when she felt him approach. A magnetic pull through the bond that had her turning before he touched her.
Leander stood there, his usual unshakable composure touched by a visible tension. The alpha stillness in him was pronounced, his green eyes blazing with an intensity that made her pulse skip.
“Everything okay?” she asked, her voice low.
He gave a single, sharp nod, but the nervous energy radiating from him was at odds with the gesture. He took her hand, and the crowd around them seemed to sense the shift in the air, conversations hushing into a curious silence.
Then, without a word, Leander went down on one knee on the soft grass.
The world narrowed to the space between them. The music faded. Camille’s breath caught, her free hand flying to her mouth. Helena’s soft gasp was the only other sound she registered.
He pulled a small, black velvet box from his pocket. When he opened it, the sunlight caught the central stone—a square-cut emerald, deep and flawless, flanked by glittering baguette diamonds. It was bold. Unapologetic. Perfect.
